


Family Meeting

by hpjk_addict



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: AU (because everyone is more or less happy), Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:35:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28579824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpjk_addict/pseuds/hpjk_addict
Summary: This was not how Tommy wanted his family to find out about him and Alfie. To be fair, he didn’t want or plan on their finding out at all. Ever. But if they had to find out – well – he would have preferred them not to burst in on them kissing in the early hours of the morning. Who does that, anyway?
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	Family Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a short collection of scenes and drabbles that I have in my head regarding Tommy and Alfie, which will include some mpreg, some implied incest, and an occasional direct quote from the show. This is my happy place and I'm not taking any objections or complaints at the moment. Positive feedback is always welcome, though ;)

“Ran off again, did ya?”

Tommy shrugs but doesn’t otherwise move from where he’s sprawled on a chair, head thrown back, a thick ribbon of smoke rising upwards.

“So I have to wonder, Tommy,” says Alfie as he walks across the drawing room to where Tommy is sitting. “I really do. Right. Did you even sleep in that luxurious bed of yours or did you take off to the pastures green like a fucking horse the moment I fell asleep? ‘Cos, the way I see it, mate, yeah, if that is the case, then it would appear that I haven’t done a fucking good job fucking you into oblivion.”

Tommy smiles lazily, licking his lips as he does so, his eyes ever so slightly softened by amusement. “Are you worried about your performance last night, Alfie?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. 

“Nah. Fuck off, Tommy. Just thinking that if – for whatever inexplicable reason – I failed to make a more lasting impression, right, I'll just have to make sure that it doesn’t happen again. So that next time, yeah, you won’t so much as think of crawling to the other side of the bed.”

“You could always tie me down,” suggests Tommy casually.

“I could, yeah, I could.”

Alfie is towering over him now, so Tommy sits up straight and spreads his thighs and Alfie moves to stand in the space created for him. Tommy is looking up at him with that soft expression that so rarely graces his face; an expression he might not even be aware of making; an expression very few people (mostly dead) are aware he is capable of making. But he is feeling particularly loose-limbed and relaxed at the moment and when he thinks about it long enough to come up with the right word to describe his present state he realizes with some surprise that the word is ‘content’. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says at last, putting out his cigarette and taking one of Alfie’s hands in his; “not after all that hard work you put in last night. Besides which, I thought you deserved a bit of rest.”

“You did, eh?” asks Alfie, studying Tommy’s face with unwavering intensity. “Right then. And that would be why?”

“Because I seem to remember you promising to fuck me on every surface in this house till I couldn’t fucking walk. It’s a big house, Alfie. Think you can manage?”

Alfie scoffs. “And you’re only little, Tommy, with that big fucking mouth on ya. You should be careful – really careful – about what you’re saying there, mate, yeah.”

Despite the threat his words convey, the hand that cups the side of Tommy’s face is surprisingly gentle. Tommy leans into the touch like a touch-starved cat.

“I’m counting on it, Alfie. I’m counting on it,” he murmurs with a sigh, holding his gaze, thinking of asking if maybe they could begin putting Alfie’s plan into action here and now; he sent away all his staff for the weekend.

“Now look here, sweetie,” says Alfie, rubbing his thumb against Tommy’s chin, mesmerized by that blue-eyed stare, “how about you stand up and greet us properly, yeah.”

Tommy smiles and languidly gets to his feet. He puts his hands on Alfie’s upper arms. Alfie’s hands cradle the back of his head. Just like everything else this morning, the kiss is unexpectedly gentle. Certainly very different from their fucking last night. But, apparently, that’s the order of the day and for once Tommy isn’t the one in charge. Alfie is controlling the pace, keeping Tommy’s head in place, unhurriedly and methodically studying the inside of Tommy’s mouth. It takes some time for Tommy to submit, to relax into the tenderness that is almost too much, to accept it.

Alfie is unrelenting but patient, giving him all the time that he needs, and for all that he claims that he doesn’t understand horses, he seems to know exactly what to do when Tommy feels ready to bolt. Alfie’s touch is firm but careful. As though Tommy is a precious vase that can slip through his fingers if he slackens his grip yet will break into pieces if he grips too tightly. Tommy has to remind himself that he is allowed to have this: he is allowed to have soft and nice and he doesn’t have to turn everything into a fucking war. It’s overwhelming and liberating and he is drowning in the sensation.

He is so busy cataloguing and committing to memory every little thing that Alfie’s doing with that wicked tongue of his that he doesn’t hear anything until a gun is fired and Arthur’s unmistakable voice is bellowing  _ “What the fuck is going on here?” _ .

They break apart and find themselves facing the whole Shelby clan, staring back at them with varying degrees of shock and disbelief.

Tommy is vaguely aware of how he must look with his hair mussed, his cheeks flushed, his mouth ravaged; the area around it pink and tender from Alfie’s beard. His shirt is rumpled and untucked and his suspenders are hanging out. It’s not like he was expecting guests. He had other plans, didn’t he?

Alfie’s hand has slid down and stopped on his hip and now stays there like a brand of ownership and Tommy can’t seem to make his tongue and mouth work in order to tell him off. He has gone completely numb, though his heart is hammering in his chest. 

For a split second no one moves or speaks or even breathes – then Esme lets out a screech that must be her idea of a laugh and says, “Well, I don’t know about you, Arthur, but I think it’s obvious what’s going on here.”

“What the fuck?!” yells John, his eyes bulging, while his wife is shaking with laughter. “What the bloody fuck, Tom?”

Esme isn’t the only one who finds the whole thing amusing. “What’s the matter, Thomas?” asks Linda. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Looks more like a bear,” comments Ada, looking very much stunned yet admirably loquacious, considering the situation. “Tommy, sweetheart, care to explain?”

“Or, at the very least, introduce us to your – er – special guest,” offers Polly, her eyes twinkling knowingly.

Tommy’s gaze is darting around the room that is quite possibly swimming in front of his eyes. They’re all here. He feels suddenly sick. Finn’s gangly form is hovering uncertainly somewhere in the background. Michael is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed on his chest, his expression both inscrutable and judgmental.

The next moment Arthur steps forward with a roar, pointing his gun over Tommy’s shoulder at Alfie, who maintains his grip on Tommy’s hip as though proving some bloody point.

“Arthur, put your gun down,” Tommy grits out, his mind reeling. “Right the fuck now.”

“Give me one good reason, Tom,” growls Arthur, his eyes mad, his voice shaking with fury; “one – bloody – good – reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet right through this fucker’s head.”

Polly snorts. “I’m sure Tommy will give you more than one good reason, Arthur. Put that bloody thing away.”

“I can give you one very good reason,” volunteers Alfie and Tommy can just tell without looking at him that he is grinning like a madman that he is.

“Shut the fuck up!” barks Arthur. “I’m not talking to you, am I? I’m talking to my brother!”

“Yeah, you are, mate, you are. And allow me to say, right, that it is the most riveting conversation I have ever heard. I mean it, mate. Yeah. I have rarely been more fascinated in my entire life.”

Tommy takes a very long and very deep breath, all the while holding his brother’s gaze. “Arthur, it’s all right,” he says as calmly as he can, stretching out his arms in a pacifying manner towards him. “Put that gun down. Let’s talk. All right?”

“All right? You call this  _ all right _ , Tom?”

Arthur covers the rest of the distance between them in two angry strides, brings their foreheads together and holds his gun between the two of them as though he hasn’t quite made up his mind yet who to shoot first.

“You think it’s  _ all right _ that I come here and find that fucker’s tongue  _ down my brother’s throat _ ?”

Tommy doesn’t know what to say to that. Alfie, on the other hand, has no such problem.

“So, what I’m hearing mate, right, is that you would have liked to see my tongue down your brother’s – ”

“ _ Jesus Christ, Alfie... _ ”

There’s another shriek of laughter that comes as a shock, because Tommy has been focusing so hard on Arthur and Alfie he has momentarily forgotten there were other people in the room. He is suddenly very hot in the face. Fuck. He didn’t mean to moan the fucking words, did he?

Alfie chuckles. “Do control yourself, Tommy, there’s a good lad,” he says, removing his hand from Tommy’s hip and placing it on the small of his back, “or your brother here will think that I’m not taking good care of your – er – needs. Might think, yeah, that I’m not a  _ man  _ enough for you.”

Polly snorts. Ada actually giggles. Esme is toasting Tommy with an invisible bottle. Tommy looks up at the ceiling, thinking that now would be a good time for the floor to open up beneath his feet.

This was  _ not _ how he wanted his family to find out about him and Alfie. To be fair, he didn’t want or plan on their finding out at all. Ever. But if they had to find out – well – he would have preferred them not to burst in on them kissing in the early hours of the morning. Who does that, anyway?

Then again, Tommy thinks, it could have been worse. They could have burst in on them fucking, which was very much on the menu until their unexpected arrival. So, really, Arthur should consider himself lucky, eh?

Tommy isn’t stupid enough to say that out loud, though. It’s bad enough that Alfie keeps running his mouth whenever he has the chance. Well, there’s nothing he can do about Alfie’s tendency not to shut up when he absolutely fucking should. But surely he still must have some influence on his brother, because, honestly, having a gun hovering at his temple is getting tiresome and, considering the hand holding the gun, potentially lethal.

“Arthur, you need to listen to me. All right?” Tommy grabs Arthur around the neck and gives him a good shake. “Lower your gun and calm down. Can you do that, brother?”

It takes a bloody long while but at last Arthur nods. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

He lowers the gun and Tommy sighs in relief. Arthur doesn’t resist when Tommy takes his gun away and claps him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

“I need to know why, Tommy,” mutters Arthur next, avoiding his eye. And, really, Tommy should have known that it wouldn’t be the end of it. “I need to know why...” Arthur’s hands are balled into fists at his sides and his whole frame is shaking. “I need to fucking know why you’re letting this fucker – ”

“Arthur – ”

“Is this part of the deal, Tommy? Is this why you’re letting him do this to you?”

Tommy shakes his head. “It’s not part of the deal, Arthur.”

“So you’re not even getting anything out of it?”

Tommy is surprised to hear John’s voice this time.

“Oh, believe me, mate, your brother is getting plenty out of it,” intervenes Alfie, sounding smug, because, of course, he would. “And, make no mistake, right, he’s not  _ letting _ me do this to him – he's fucking  _ begging  _ me to do this to him. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

Tommy is seriously tempted to shoot Alfie in the face when the latter suddenly moves forward, raises his arms and exclaims “Arthur! Shalom!” as though Arthur has only just walked into the room and he is the very person Alfie was hoping to see.

Arthur is looking beyond bewildered. So is everyone else. Tommy isn’t even trying to understand what is going on anymore. He simply crosses his arms on his chest and waits to see what’s going to happen next.

Alfie, in the meantime, takes Arthur’s unresisting hand and continues, “Come here. Come on. Listen… I owe you a little something, don’t I? I do. Come on. Sit down. Come on, sit down here. There you go. Right. Listen. Arthur, I want you to know, right, that whatever happened between us, yeah? Back then… that was business. It was just business. All right? And I also want you to know that I have made my apologies via my own God for abusing a very holy day to get you clinked up and battered, which I did. And, now, I would also like to extend my personal apologies unto you. All right?”

Alfie turns to look at Tommy, who gives him an imperceptible nod. Then Tommy turns his attention back to Arthur. His brother is breathing heavily, his deranged stare fixed on Tommy. Tommy is staring back, waiting. Everyone in the room seems to be holding their breath.

At long last, his eyes never leaving Tommy’s, Arthur croaks, “Your apology’s accepted.”

Polly lets out a loud breath. “Finally! Now that’s settled, can we go to the kitchen?” she asks. “I need a fucking drink.”

“About bloody time!” pipes in Esme.

Polly motions for Michael to follow her and marches out of the drawing room. Ada and Finn follow next. Linda grabs Arthur’s hand and drags him along, though not before giving Tommy her most scathing look. Arthur makes a few steps but then changes his mind. He takes his hand back despite Linda’s protests and stalks to where Tommy and Alfie are standing.

“Arthur,” says Tommy in warning but Arthur is already pointing his forefinger between Alfie’s eyes, his face screwed up in fury. “I don’t like it, all right?” he snarls. “I don’t fucking like it. I don’t like you and I don’t trust you! So I’m warning you, Solomons, if you hurt my brother – ”

“Yeah, yeah, you will come after me,” interrupts Alfie, making a face and waving Arthur’s finger away as though it is a pesky gnat. “I know that, don’t I? You’re a fucking animal, mate.”

“All right then. As long as you remember that. You coming, John?” asks Arthur on his way out of the room; Linda has already left.

John shakes his head. Tommy sighs and rubs his eyes. Great. John’s shifting from foot to foot, mutilating his toothpick. From time to time he glances up at Tommy, looking as though he’s trying to figure out something too complicated for his mind to grasp. Tommy wants to shake him. He’s pretty much at the end of his rope by this point.  _ Can he have some fucking peace in his own fucking house? _

“What, John?” he snaps in the end, because John isn’t saying anything for what seems like eternity. “What is it?”

“So… this is what you like or something?” says John, gesturing between Tommy and Alfie without looking at either.

Alfie snorts somewhere from behind. Tommy lets out a loud breath and rolls his eyes. “Yes, John, this is what I like and, yes, this is how I like it. All right?”

“Since when?” demands John balefully.

“Since always, John!  _ Since – fucking – always! _ ”

John opens his mouth again when Polly walks into the room.

“John, leave your brother be,” she commands, coming up to him and cuffing him over the head. “Come to the kitchen. There’s tea and rum.”

Tommy nods to her as she sweeps a struggling John out of the room.

But once they are alone with Alfie, he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not. He is afraid of what is going to happen next. So he steels himself for whatever he’s going to find on Alfie’s face and turns around. Alfie is looking at him as though he knows exactly what Tommy is thinking.

“You all right there, Tommy?” he asks softly, his mouth twitching. “You look a tad peaky there, mate.”

Tommy snorts feebly and comes up to Alfie until there are only a few inches left between them. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on the open collar of Alfie’s white linen shirt. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

“I figured as much. Funny that...”

Tommy takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye then. There’s no point beating about the bush. “Do you want to leave?” he asks bluntly.

Alfie quirks an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to leave, sweetie?”

Tommy shakes his head and presses his forehead against Alfie’s shoulder. “I want you to stay,” he whispers.

_ He just wanted to have a quiet weekend and a lot of sex… _

Alfie wraps an arm around his waist and chuckles. “Your whole family is in the kitchen and you’re thinking about fucking, eh, Tommy?” he says as though Tommy has spoken out loud.

“I  _ was _ thinking about riding you in that chair,” says Tommy, leaning fully into Alfie’s embrace. “But now I have to go to the kitchen and find out what they have come here for.”

Yet he doesn’t. Instead, Tommy burrows deeper into Alfie’s warmth. Alfie hums under his breath. “Right, well, I think it’s pretty obvious what they have come here for, mate.”

“To torment me, eh? I expect they must want something or they wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

“You’re a silly boy, Tommy,” says Alfie after a short pause.

That makes Tommy look up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“It means, Tommy, that while you were busy headbutting that thick-skulled brother of yours, I had an opportunity, right, to observe the many members of your sprawling gypsy family with my own eyes and what I saw was that, with a very few exceptions, they care for you a lot more than you appear to give them credit for.”

Tommy’s initial reaction is to scoff at the very idea – except that Alfie’s ideas are very rarely wrong, which fact makes him pause and keep his words to himself, mulling over Alfie’s words instead.

They enter the kitchen in silence and are immediately engulfed by chaos of loud chatter and thick cigarette smoke. Polly and Ada are talking together and it’s not difficult to guess what they’re talking about as they keep darting curious glances at him and Alfie. Arthur is sitting alone in the corner, determined to drink himself into stupor in record time by the looks of it. Esme and John are arguing about something while sharing a bottle. Finn and Michael have raided the pantry, because, apparently, everyone is hungry and Linda is making sandwiches.

Tommy tenses when Polly and Ada approach them.

“Mr Solomons,” says Polly, extending her hand for him to take. “We haven’t been properly introduced. However, I’ve heard a lot about you. Perhaps, you’ve heard about me as well. Polly Gray. I’m Tommy’s aunt and his common sense. Poor boy is too smart for his own good. Sometimes his own common sense doesn’t have time to catch up with his grand schemes and plans.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. Ada takes him by the hand and tugs. He takes the hint and they sit down together. Turns out that Alfie _ was _ right. Ada tells him that they worry about him living all alone in this big house and that they fucking miss him and then they spend a few moments reminiscing about the times when they all lived under the same roof.

Tommy knows that he can be quite unapproachable but that comes with the territory. It’s easier to keep everyone at arm’s length and not letting anyone in when conducting business his way and ruling his family with an iron fist. He tells himself that it won’t be as painful to lose them in the end. So it never fails to surprise him when they tell him that they care and that they want him to be happy.

Alfie ends up sitting opposite him with a cup of tea. Polly is actually asking him about his intentions towards Tommy.

“Right. Not honourable by any means. I can’t very well marry him,” he says. “Nor can I get him pregnant,” he adds. “So there’s that.”

John and Arthur choke on their drinks. Tommy drops his head on top of the table and wraps his hands around it. Ada rubs his back in soothing circles.

“So,” continues Alfie, scratching his beard, “if that’s Tommy’s reputation that you’re worried about, well, you have to consider, right, that he has a knack for attracting trouble and being a fucking hazard to himself. There’s no help for that, I’m afraid. Then again, people who are too stupid to cross Tommy’s path, they tend to end up – er – what is it that you do, people? Carve out their eyes? Cut out their tongues? Set them on fire? So, on the whole, I wouldn’t worry about any of that getting out and ruining his image or whatever it is you’re worried about.”

“He’s not wrong,” says Ada quietly; reproachfully. “Quite amusing, though.”

“That’s what he thinks,” mumbles Tommy, huffing and lifting his head to look at Alfie. “So don’t let him hear you say so or he’ll believe it to be true.”

Ada looks at him with an expression close to wonder.

“By God, Tommy, you like him,” she whispers, stunned. “You actually like him.”

“Well, Ada,” drawls Tommy, reaching for a cigarette, “don’t tell him that either, eh?”

Ada shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure he already knows, Tommy. I’m pretty sure he likes you back.”

Tommy lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. He has trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that Alfie Solomons is sitting at the table with his family, talking to his aunt.

“Tommy needs someone to take care of him,” continues Polly. “He will deny it with his dying breath, of course, so there’s no point asking him about it. But you look well able to handle him.”

Alfie inclines his head in agreement. Tommy expects him to say something provoking or obnoxious to support Polly’s assumption and raises an enquiring eyebrow when Alfie remains humbly quiet, apparently letting his silence speak for itself. By that Tommy understands that Alfie knows better than to aggravate or challenge Polly.

Polly smiles and gives Tommy an arch look – then she startles everyone by yelling at them to get back to their bloody cars.

Tommy and Alfie watch them drive off from the porch.

“Now that was an interesting morning, eh, Tommy?” says Alfie as they return to the empty house and he sits down in one of the chairs. “Let me tell you that this, right, wasn’t how I imagined to spend it. Here I thought that I would have to hunt you down in the fucking stables or in the pasture and coax you back into a semblance of civilization that is your house. I was fucking ecstatic when it turned out that I didn’t have to do that. I guess I must have made a lasting impression last night after all. But I wanted to make certain. Right. So I was just pondering to myself what part of the house to start with when that tribe of savages you call family descended upon us and – ”

Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Alfie,” he says, straddling his lap and putting his arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” asks Alfie, gripping his waist to keep him steady.

“Shut up.”

“Nah, sweetie – ”

Tommy is pretty sure that it’s the principle of the thing that keeps Alfie talking rather than anything of import to say and as far as Tommy is concerned there are only two ways to shut him up when he goes off on a tangent: to shoot him in the face or to kiss him.

Today it’s option number two.


End file.
